Chapter One

Chapter One

Will Honduras Endure Us?

Moving to a Third World nation with no job and no concrete plans for the future was an interesting plan, the kind that could seem reasonable under certain circumstances-like when you've reached the part of the tequila bottle when you're faced with the decision of eating the worm. At this point, a lot of insane ideas could occur to you. You have a round, ribbed invertebrate in your mouth: moving to one of the poorest countries in the Western Hemisphere with a kid, maybe even two, could seem like a really good idea.

However, my mother didn't drink. So as we discussed her imminent plans to flee the United States with my father, I leaned against the kitchen counter in my parent's middle-class suburban Phoenix home, amazed that I was staring at a completely sober individual. After all, that was half my gene pool standing in front of me-not even one of those genes drove her to consume alcohol?

My mother happily gnawed away on a piece of red licorice and explained that she had limited their choices down to two potential areas: Asia and Latin America. Each of these places had its benefits and drawbacks. For instance, India would be the cheapest place, but it had the most frightening diseases. Did I have any opinion on this?

"I think you should avoid leprosy at all costs, Mom."

"Good point," she said, drawing a line through half a dozen countries. "Anything else?"

"Guerrilla warfare-also not a good thing."

"Hmmm. How about Guatemala?"

"Too soon after the era of peasant disappearances."

"El Salvador?"

"Mother,